Shiver
by Rinon Toros
Summary: H/L Songfic, based upon Coldplay's "Shiver." Angst abound. :d


Title: Shiver.  
  
Rating: PG.  
  
Pairing: Harry/Leena.  
  
Notes: ._. I'm really hesitant about keeping this up. Is it good? At all? I don't like it. x.x I kicked this out after screaming at my ex- the other night and it helped me feel better! But, I still think it's rather horrible..  
  
:D Cynical, OOC ( ? ) Harry. Angst. Angst. Angst. Sort of inspired by Gackt Camui's ( *_____* ) "Secret Garden," though the song I used in this is Coldplay's "Shiver."  
  
- - - -  
  
I wish I could count all the times I've been rejected upon one hand. I would feel better if it were so.. Instead, I've got hands, I've got feet, I've got just about every paw upon every Zoid I have ever owned, as well.  
  
Yes. Another sob story. I don't particularly enjoy people crying over me; it's a painful thought and I'd rather not inflict that upon anyone. So?  
  
So, don't.  
  
Not that you would, of course.  
  
Where to begin? I'm in love. I've been in love. I fear I will always be in love.  
  
Love hurts like nothing else.  
  
I heard that long ago, far away from here, there were priests. These priests would, with wooden spoons, carve out the hearts of people, to sacrifices to specific Gods. For the sake of their crops, their health, their overall well-being – tedious things. Slaughtering their own people. I'm not entirely sure whether these people were willing, but – I don't know whether to say, 'I hope so,' or 'I hope not.'  
  
In my opinion, my knowledgeable opinion, love is like that. One-sided love, especially.  
  
- - - - -  
  
So I look in your direction,  
  
But you pay me no attention, do you.  
  
I know you don't listen to me.  
  
'cause you say you see straight through me, don't you.  
  
- - - - -  
  
In spite of his situation, he was humming oh so quietly. A brilliant smile tipping the corners of his lips upward, unbridled happiness shining through. Through a thick haze of hearts and flowers, all he could see was her.  
  
And then, he was given yet another set of dress and matching boots to add onto the pile which just about extended to the roof as it was, and he snapped out of it.  
  
Casting a glance to and fro, he took a moment to reregister his current situation and area. He wasn't daydreaming; he wasn't sleeping – yep, she was right there, in front of him. Well, more to the left, but nonetheless! He scowled, mildly annoyed by the weight of the clothes, and took a moment to shift and even out the weight.  
  
She, all the while, took up another dress that she would probably never wear and held it up to her front. Upon deciding that she liked the sleek texture and the creamy hue, which went along so perfectly with her appearance, she added it to the pile, a pair of mediocre-heeled dress-shoes following along with it.  
  
Still smiling and now teetering under the immense weight, he tipped his head to the left and around the pile, focusing on her with an approving gleam in his eye. "Ideal choice, my sweet."  
  
"Huh?" She tipped an idle glance this way and that, as though she thought this specific person hadn't been tailing her about the store, before meeting his gaze. Partial confusion could be read upon her features, most likely at his being there, though she soon dismissed it with a shake of her head. "Oh. Yeah."  
  
He was still smiling, though a twang of pain surged through him. He felt his insides wither pathetically.  
  
She returned to her rummaging and he returned to teetering and daydreaming, hiding his cringe, taunting the feeling that was growing inside of his stomach.  
  
- - - - -  
  
And on and on from the moment I wake,  
  
To the moment I sleep,  
  
I'll be there by your side,  
  
Just you try and stop me,  
  
I'll be waiting in line,  
  
Just to see if you care.  
  
- - - - -  
  
All my fingers. All my toes. Every single paw upon every single Zoid I had ever came across.  
  
Thousands.  
  
That is the gracious amount of my dedication, my compassion, my love towards her. That is the amount of the things I've done to prove it to be true. That is the amount of times she has, either by choice, or by naïveté, ignored those actions.  
  
I admit there were a number of times where she saw them. Accepted them with wide eyes and, shortly after, a crude remark. A hit upon the head.  
  
Her father told me that she didn't know how to express emotions properly, having been raised amongst men, lacking a mother her entire life. She was a 'tomboy' and that was the end of that.  
  
At least, until he came about.  
  
Then, the father was all smiles and lies. He liked him for the sole reason that he was useful. He could pilot – maybe. No one could tell, in actuality. Was the Organoid piloting, or was he? I'm stuck upon the concept of him being a fluke. Watch. Scrutinize. It's as obvious as the clear, blue sky itself.  
  
She doesn't appreciate him for that. The brother said she didn't appreciate him in the slightest, because of his habits, his blatant lies. The brother and his partner both frequently quoted her, while she complained, supporting these accusations with words produced from her own mouth. They would always end it with a wink, always telling me to keep trying.  
  
"Love knows no boundaries." everyone has said. "Denial and childish actions, too."  
  
- - - - -  
  
Did she want me to change?  
  
Well I changed for good.  
  
And I want you to know.  
  
But you always get your way,  
  
I wanted to say,  
  
Don't you Shiver?  
  
Shiver, Shiver.  
  
- - - - -  
  
Fine. He thought rather grudgingly as he, with the help of his dynamic duo of servants, wrapped random, fragile objects in newspaper. Afterward, they would be stacked into a number of boxes, the boxes taped there after and towed out into what could be described as two incredibly large, U-Haul- Dibsons. Change? Me? Yep. No more battles for me.  
  
"Harry – " Sebastian began tentatively as he wrapped one of Harry's favorite pictures – of Leena, of course, with him in the background, flailing around helplessly beneath the weight of something large, boxed and wrapped prettily.  
  
"Pack." He ground out and turned his back on the small group. He muttered distastefully to himself as he wrapped. Earlier, he had been through what surprisingly could be called his first argument with Leena and over the fact that he was doing everything she was. He was his own person! He did things because he wanted to, not because she – okay, so maybe he did pick out the location for compound and he did choose a dark horn because they looked partially, though not even, like a Dibson, but..  
  
"What of the compound?" Benjamin simply – said, his voice lacking any true curiosity, or want to actually know. Frustration and mixed emotions blending within the crowded atmosphere of the room wasn't something to be mixed with utter silence.  
  
"My parents will deal with it." He seemed to have eased off quite a bit, due to the inquiry. He looked behind him thoughtfully, around him. He had spent a good lump of his adolescence here, plotting stupidly, and now, he very well intended to let it go. Fighting with her wasn't what she wanted! It hurt like – well, nothing could compare to the pain. He shoved an unwrapped, framed picture of his family into the box and stood upright. "C'mon! Let's go!"  
  
Everything was in the spare compartments for the larger things. It's not like he had brought much in the first place; clothes, sparse furniture, spare parts for his servants, various knickknacks – pictures, pictures and more pictures. Now, he sat, elbows propped atop the console, fingers clasped together to form a large fist, his chin resting upon it all.  
  
He stared, almost tiredly, out into the vast expanse of desert, Benjamin and Sebastian on either side of him, either looking tentative. Maybe he was changing his mind?  
  
No. He sighed, rightened himself and brought his hands down towards the controls. One hand strayed toward a panel of numbers and he idly tapped an array of digits in; his battle registration number, which would give him the 'okay' to operate the Zoid.  
  
It beeped cheerfully in acceptance and the object rumbled to life. He returned the stray hand to the controls and gave a small push. It, in contrast to the speed that his sister traveled at, meandered forward, giving him the chance to cast an unwilling look toward the compound. Problems.  
  
He hadn't expected her to step out in front of the large moving structure from the side of the compound, face contorted in a look of irritation and – sadness? Either way, she wasn't about to move, ran over by a stampede of rather large, metallic animals, or not. He jerked back on the controls just in time to keep her from being trampled, eyes wide and wailing quietly in panic.  
  
"Go and – I'll never speak to you," She spoke clearly, though her voice wobbled in defiance. This could be heard even through the voice over system, through the distance between the two. He warily eyed her through the front canopy of the 'U-Haul,' fingers tapping impatiently upon the console. Hiding what he had previously felt was easy! He silently commended himself, through inwardly strained. "Ever, Harry!"  
  
"I need to stop by home," He lied – ironic, how it was, that every time he lied, it was for her or somehow related to her – and looked away. "My parents request that I sign papers that has much to do with my inheritance."  
  
"You're bad at lying." She sounded like she was going to cry. That hurt him more than the fact that he was leaving did. Though, he didn't budge, focusing on a random screen within the innards, even if the most it did was blink idly with, 'START' plastered all over the screen.  
  
Oh, what was the point? Why wait? He shifted, looking back down at her. She was scowling.  
  
"Move, please, Leena." He began to urge the controls forward once more and, following in synch, the Zoids began to move once more. She, for the briefest moment, looked even more forlorn than before, though she moved.  
  
"Fine! Never again!"  
  
- - - - -  
  
I'll always be waiting for you,  
  
So you know how much I need you,  
  
But you never even see me, do you?  
  
- - - - -  
  
I can't even remember the reason why we fought.  
  
I remember her screaming, I remember me – screaming, as well? I remember her slapping me, which was followed up by a handful of snide remarks. I remember the fight, but not the reason as to why.  
  
That wouldn't matter, though. Things patched themselves up, aching and stinging all along. I returned. I fought. I was neglected.  
  
I wish I wasn't but – well, you understand, by now, don't you? I'd rather not say it aloud. You should be able to guess.  
  
I miss her.  
  
- - - - -  
  
And is this is my final chance of getting you?  
  
- - - - -  
  
He sighed as he fingered at the 'up,' and 'down' buttons on the apparatus that would change the few channels on the hospital TV. Most of the channels he came across consisted of typical news, as most anything else would 'excite' the patients too much, possibly causing a few stitches to bust or worse.  
  
Huffing, he pressed the up button once more. C'mon, c'mon.. He had to see the coverage for the Royal Cup. H-a-d to! It was just like a life or death situation – whether a certain team won just about backed up the whole 'get better' scheme!  
  
He pressed up, once more, and the channel went from '5,' to '2.' He groaned and fell unhappily back into his pillow, fingers still pressing away at the 'up' and 'down' buttons. Typical. He was probably dying and the doctors weren't telling him and he wouldn't even get to see coverage of the cup!  
  
"NUUURSE!" He, rather suddenly, wailed and thrashed around in the bed, in spite of his injuries. The nurse, at least, one of them, came bounding into the room, clutching a newly acquired box of what he believed to be needles. He fearfully eyed the box, though soon returned to his previous action. If he had to force himself into a seizure, then so be it! He needed to watch!  
  
"Mister Champ – please! Remain still, or you'll hurt yourself!" The nurse wailed and dropped the box as she scrambled to the bedside, taking the easiest route out. She began digging through the topmost drawer of the bedside table, attempting to find a specific bottle.  
  
"I – need – coverage." He whined out and continued flailing. Only after she had force-fed him more pain medication did he calm down, now dazed and pouty.  
  
".. Coverage." She exhaled loudly and eyed him skeptically. Weird boy, this one was.  
  
"The cup!" He emphasized and jerked his head towards the TV. She still eyed him, breaking away only to cast a weary glance toward the TV.  
  
"No can do, Mister Champ. We've got rules – "  
  
"Yeah? Well – well," He stammered and shoved himself upright, much to her annoyance. This wasn't what he needed! It was mandatory for him to watch this! Knowing just what he needed to force this woman into giving him it, he tugged open that same, top drawer and withdrew a velveteen box. She stood, transfixed on some random report on a big actor, though soon turned to look. He flipped it open, revealing the large, diamond ring he had nearly lost several hours before. He would have to lie a bit, but.. "My wife is out there!"  
  
"'Wife?'" She repeated, staring in disbelief at the ring. "Wife. If it's – I guess – I think I could try –"  
  
Unlocking the channels wasn't something to 'try.' It was as simple as going into the main power room and undoing the controls, which had been set to keep them from watching anything that wouldn't make them pass out from boredom. She held up a finger to signal a moment and retreated from the room.  
  
For the briefest of moments, he looked around, panicked still. Last time he had labeled her anything – even his friend, it had resulted in severe pain. Finding that, much to his luck, no one was around to pummel him, he allowed himself a self-satisfied grin and settled into his pillows. It sounded nice labeling her that, in spite of the fact that –  
  
No. There was no point in thinking negatively, was there? Still grinning away, he poked at the 'up' and 'down' buttons once again. No channels, this far, had been added or taken away. He began to mope once more as, five minutes later, it was still unchanged.  
  
"NURSE!" He wailed – though had been quickly cut off by the flood of new channels, which evaded the previously short list. He whooped loudly, following it up with a wince of discomfort, and flailed around in the bed once more.  
  
Two channels up and he was watching what he had wanted. Though definitely not seeing what he had wanted to see.  
  
The camera had been focused upon a grotesque picture. Zoid pieces lay scattered, burnt and broken, horribly disfigured from their once awe- inspiring shape. That wasn't the worse of it. Amidst the dramatic voice of the reporter was a scene of absolute destruction.  
  
The Gunsniper. It hadn't been totaled in the Fuhrer accident, though it was terribly scuffed up. Patches of the canopy was torn out, or toppling inward to shower the pilot in a sheer of sparkling, jagged pieces of glass.  
  
People were working to free her from restraints and he could see a clear shot of her face. Amidst small cuts and even smaller rivulets of blood, her eyes were closed, her lips parted in a disembodied form of pain.  
  
The reporter glanced back momentarily, worry etched upon her young, tanned face, waiting until the woman was carted off before speaking, "This Gunsniper, designation RZ-030, had previously escaped a horrendous fate, though the tides have swiftly turned upon its young pilot. Just moments ago, Miss Leena Tauros was knocked out of the championship by an unmarked Zoid. The Judges and the Commission have yet to identify its type, or pilot, though their suspicions are typically leaning toward the Back –"  
  
…  
  
He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily. When he opened them, he canted his head toward the door, as though expecting to see her, though the nurse, the one from moments before, was resting against the door frame, arms folded across her chest, a narrow frown offering sentiments to him.  
  
"That's her?"  
  
"Yeah." He answered weakly and looked down into his hands. Stupid him. Stupid her. After a shock like that, a person wasn't supposed to head back out. He sighed and propped his elbows up upon his knees, hiding his face within his hands. As though it could take away the pain.  
  
"She'll be okay." The nurse reassured with a large smile. He didn't see, nor did he want to. "Just a few scratches. That's all."  
  
- - - - -  
  
And on and on from the moment I wake,  
  
To the moment I sleep,  
  
I'll be there by your side,  
  
Just you try and stop me,  
  
I'll be waiting in line,  
  
Just to see if you care.  
  
- - - - -  
  
Did she die?  
  
I think I hated myself that moment. I could have protected her. Her stupid teammates could have protected her, but they didn't. I hated her that moment. She could have avoided the injuries and pain she caused herself, the worry she caused everyone else.  
  
I offhandedly remember dreaming about her when I wasn't permitted to see her that night. Relatives only. I wasn't a relative and nor was I, really, a friend.  
  
She died in the dream. Horribly, painfully. I was at her bedside, hugging her, crying, ranting things of disbelief. She bled from places unknown and screamed, and cried, thrashing against me, vexing me. I wasn't sure how, but she died then. Her dream-body deteriorated and she was no longer in existence. I woke up, not screaming, not crying; gasping violently, clutching tightly at the thin blankets.  
  
Why is determination a natural human trait? Why can't we just let go and let things pass us? Why do we force ourselves to suffer?  
  
- - - - -  
  
Oh, oh, oh, oh.  
  
- - - - -  
  
"– A few scratches." The doctor was sporting a large, toothy smile. He wanted to knock a few of his pearly teeth out for it; how could someone possibly smile when so much hurting was going on? Instead, he remained still, one brow quirked, feigned reassurance washing over his features.  
  
"Can I see her?" He shifted upon the crutches, which were mandatory to wear, and looked beyond him to the door. There was a window beside the door and he could see the bottom of the bed from it. Leena was shifting within her bed, kicking the blankets and anything else that got in the wrathful way of her feet. The sight made the unusual weight within the flimsy pocket of the hospital pants seem even heavier, even more foreboding.  
  
"I – suppose." The doctor's brows knit together and he glanced back at the room, as well. One hand momentarily lifted to rub at his neck and he laughed nervously. "She's angry and she has this very unusual tolerance for the tranquilizers we're using. At least, for now."  
  
"I know." He smiled lightly and the doctor returned it, before skirting off to aid another person. He shifted on the crutches once more to straighten himself and sidled around an outburst of nurses and doctors to enter the room.  
  
"This bed is uncomf –" She snarled almost as soon as the doorknob began to turn. She silenced when the first crutch came through the doorway, followed by him, and she was looking beyond displeased. He inwardly cringed and he quickly grew to regret coming, especially as she began to open her mouth once more. "Harry! Can you believe this! They're confining me to a bed, because of a few scratches!"  
  
He blinked and recoiled. No yelling at him, directly, for something he had done?  
  
"They wont even tell me who attacked me," She continued angrily, clutching a hand secured within a sling into a painful fist. She cringed immediately, though remained as she was. "Because they think I'll hurt myself worse!"  
  
"Leena – " He warned, watching as she continued to cringe. "You shouldn't do that –"  
  
"If I can't do this, I have no chance to pay back the guy who totaled my Zoid!" She shot back, twice as angrily and slammed her other hand down upon the bed. He winced.  
  
"If you keep doing that, you'll break your hand and never heal." He corrected quietly, slowly. Actually fearing he may be pelted in pillows or chairs or something hard and injury causing. He eyed him crossly. "Then they'll take away your pilot license!"  
  
"Humph. You obviously forget who I am." She turned her head away, tipping her nose upward snottily, and folded her arms over her stomach. He grinned in spite of himself and shook his head, leaning his full weight upon the crutches. What more was there to say?  
  
She turned her head back, squinting momentarily at the doctor who had retreated no more than five minutes ago. He was looking through the glass to see if she had fallen asleep yet. She shot him a dirty look, causing Harry to look back as well, and adjusted herself, trying to set herself upright without hurting anything worse.  
  
Silence is bad, She abruptly thought as she looked at the Champ heir through the corner of her eyes, struggling still. Think, Leena..  
  
"And what the hell is with the nurses?" She shot him a withering look and momentarily continued maneuvering herself, before actually getting it right. "Calling me Leena Champ?"  
  
"Ah –" He blushed so furiously he feared he would melt. He looked away, embarrassed out of his mind – he shouldn't have blabbed to that stupid nurse. Now, he would probably end up in the ward for the people who were just about dying.  
  
.. But, she wasn't looking like she was about to attack him and gnaw his head off. A curious, even stare was fixated upon him and, instinctively, he found himself reaching towards his pocket. Even if she said no, it wouldn't matter. Once he was healed, he was gone. This time, forever. 18 was the age he was destined to take the corporation at; in a few months, that was what he would be.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"I – ah – here," He dug the box out of the depths of his pocket and tossed it towards her. She fumbled with it and it fell to the foot of the bed, out of her reach. That was enough to be said, nonetheless; she stared in disbelief at the box, her jaw slack in disbelief. He coughed nervously and shifted to turn around, opening the door and blurting, "That's what's with them."  
  
She jerked forward to grab the box as soon as he swiftly hobbled out the door. The door itself was closed and secured shut when she leaned back and opened it.  
  
Silence. Utter pensive silence.  
  
She sighed and flipped the box back shut.  
  
- - - - -  
  
Sing it loud and clear.  
  
I'll always be waiting for you.  
  
- - - - -  
  
I left.  
  
Yup. Left. Can you believe it?  
  
I upped and left that day, having Mary come in just to say I was needed at home, injured, or no. I relocated near home, because dad did retire and mom couldn't handle it. Mary was typically busy with something or another – she ranted about devising a plan of sorts, involving a Zoid and some boy. I don't and never do want to know.  
  
I haven't seen Leena since. I don't know whether she wears the ring or threw it out that day, laughing manically as it clanked about in the garbage, or possibly down the street, before abruptly stopping and being forgotten. Probably the latter, but there's times when I think otherwise.  
  
I think that's the first time I've ran away from anything. I don't want to do it again. Ever.  
  
Saa, who the hell am I to talk like I have no problems? I miss her. I want to argue with her. I want to argue with her teammates. I want to be rejected. I want to be loved.  
  
I want to go back!  
  
- - - - -  
  
Yeah I'll always be waiting for you.  
  
Yeah I'll always be waiting for you.  
  
Yeah I'll always be waiting for you.  
  
For you,  
  
I will always be waiting.  
  
- - - - -  
  
"Leena? C'mon." Jaime's head was swift to pop into the doorway of her room, a big, cheery grin sported upon his face. Utter happiness radiated from the usually cynical child and Leena couldn't help but smile slightly as well. "We've gotta get going, or we'll miss the show!"  
  
"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!" She shot back in return. It honestly didn't look like it. She had been curled up within her chair before the computer, her legs pulled up towards her chest and her arms wedged between her torso and her thighs. Her left hand was folded over her right and she was focusing curiously upon something.  
  
"Yeah, right," Jaime grinned and, as she took up the nearest object, a pillow, he quickly ducked out of the doorway, yelling, "Just hurry! We're waiting in the car!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah!" She replaced her arms with the pillow and then folded her arms over the top of that, the left still upon the right. She favored the left hand. It carried its own little secret when everyone's back was turned. It even confused her, holding up a faint sheen of white to keep her from understanding it all. Crazy as it may have sounded, the left was always so mysterious. The right compelled it to do things she would have never thought possible.  
  
Like wearing a ring, rather specifically, upon her third finger.  
  
She, still smiling, shook her head and removed that said ring, replacing it within a box and then hiding it away within a drawer. Brushing her backside off, she retreated from the room and to the car, which was waiting. To the people who all eyed her with the utmost impatience as she pressed her luck, daintily getting within the passenger seat, taking precious time to buckle herself up.  
  
Her left hand always felt so.. light, so useless, without the ring.  
  
But, it would be there later for her. It always was.  
  
( AN: That was stupid, wasn't it? x.x I'm slipping in my old age, I'll bet! :/ ) 


End file.
